


Telling My Mind to be Careful With My Heart

by orphan_account



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: I'm Sorry, M/M, Pre-Season/Series 01, Suicide, graphic depictions of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:40:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1795828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a lot of time to think in the treatment center. Kieren spent much of that time thinking about his death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Telling My Mind to be Careful With My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry. Please do not read this if you are easily triggered by descriptions of suicide.

There was a lot of time to think in the treatment center.

Of course, there were doctor's visits, injections, group therapy, controlled socialization times. But the center was so big that accommodating all of the patients meant that each individual had a lot of downtime. Kieren wasn't sure what everyone else did during that time, but he spent a good portion of it curled on his cot, thinking. Trying to piece back together what his life had been like before all of this.

He did try to remember the good stuff. Jem's fifth birthday. Visits to the cave with Rick. The day he realized he was his painting teacher's favorite student. The afternoon he got his acceptance to art school. Little random things like that.

But bad memories are generally a lot more persistent. The post-injection flashbacks weren't the only times he had to relive the black parts of his life.

He spent a lot of time thinking about his death.

Had it been a bad decision? To be honest, he wasn't sure. Maybe it was just that his newly regenerating brain wasn't so good with things like hindsight and morality yet. Maybe he was just weirdly attached to his own emotional pain. Either way, he couldn't stop thinking about the weeks leading up to his decision to die.

 

**

 

The day he got the news was an anxious day. The sky shone with that weird combination of brightness and overcast grey that comes before a storm. It was windy. Kieren was just returning home around three in the afternoon from doing nothing in particular. He'd been out wandering the fields around the village. He was not normally a field-wandering sort of person, but he was done with school and guaranteed a spot at his top university choice, and it was his day off of work. Not to mention that ever since Rick had been deployed, Kieren had felt increasingly more distractible, like he was always anticipating hearing the voice of someone who could not possibly be there.

When he walked into the house, his mum was sitting at the kitchen table. Kieren had been about to head up to his room to start a new painting, inspired by the day's strange lighting, but he stopped at the door to the stairs.

"Hey mum. Is something going on?"

Sue Walker started in her chair, seeming to notice her son for the first time.

"Oh hello Kieren!" Her voice was strangely bright, with a quaver behind it that Kieren could not quite place. "I... I stopped by the Macy's house today. Mrs. Macy was in. We had a, um, a chat."

Kieren raised an eyebrow. "You stopped by the Macy's house to chat? You're not exactly the best of friends, mum."

"Yes, I know that, Kier!" She laughed nervously. Kieren swallowed, similarly nervous now. "She got a letter. From the army. I figured I should stop by and see how things were going..." She trailed off. Kieren felt a lump rise in his throat. Was it excitement? Trepidation?

"A letter from Rick? I haven't heard from him in... well... how is he?"

"Kier, the letter wasn't from Rick."

"Do they know someone else in the army?" She wouldn't answer him. "Mum? What is going on?"

"I'm so sorry Kier. Rick's been killed in combat." Sue locked eyes with Kieren, waiting, gauging his reaction.

The lump in Kieren's throat had suddenly disappeared. There was nothing there anymore. "Oh. Ok then. Thanks for the news." He turned, opened the door and headed up the stairs.

Sue half stood, nonplussed and anxious. "Kier! Kieren Walker! Wait just a minute! Just come back downstairs for half a sec, sweetheart!"

There was no reply. She could hear his footsteps as he walked into his room, his door closing, and then silence. She supposed he had gotten into bed. She hovered, half out of her chair, for a few more seconds, and then sat back down again. He needed time. She'd go and fetch him when Jem came home, maybe.

Up in his room, Kieren was indeed laying on his bed. He was still fully clothed, shoes included. He was not asleep. He didn't think he'd sleep for quite a while. Did people who were completely empty even need sleep?

He felt nothing. No sadness, no anger, no happiness, no anxiety or even nostalgia. He had received today's news like a robot, and here he was, processing. But something must have gone wrong in his operating system. Yes, it was easier to think of himself like a robot, not that he knew anything about robots. He'd always been the artist, not the scientist or engineer. But this was still easier than being a human being. Thinking like this- or not thinking, rather- he could let hours pass. Days, even.

He wasn't quite sure how long he laid there, but eventually, he heard his dad come home. There was some murmuring from the kitchen. He did not listen to it. He could not listen to it. A bit later, Jem stomped through the door. There was more murmuring. Jem said something louder, almost angry. He refused to comprehend it, but couldn't help recognizing his own name. He heard Jem then, walking up the stairs. Her feet were quieter now. She wasn't heading to her room. She was coming to his, of course. Kieren didn't want her in his room. He wanted to be alone forever, isolated and non-responsive. The door opened.

"Hey Kier." Her face was as soft as he'd seen it in a long time. Were those tears at the corners of her eyes? Something in Kieren twisted. He sat up.

"Hey Jem."

"How're you doing?"

"Well, I'm not really-" He faltered. That twisting thing was still inside of him. "I'm not really sure, Jem. I just need-"

"Kier?" He was shaking now. Jem crossed to him. She sat on the bed and cautiously put her arm around him. "Hey Kier, what do you need."

"I need. Jem I need- I don't know. I don't know. I don't-"

Crying didn't usually happen this suddenly for Kieren. It was usually quiet, contained. But all of a sudden it was as though waves were crashing over him. He could barely see anymore, and he buried his face in Jem's jacket. Somewhere at the back of his mind, a voice was telling him that he shouldn't be leaning so heavily on his baby sister, but he was incapable of doing anything else at the moment. There were strange, animal noises coming from him, and he felt trapped in the middle of a hurricane. Jem said nothing, just letting him cling to her as he sobbed.

 

It didn't take long for the idea of dying to make a home in Kieren's brain. The next few weeks weren't good for any other kind of thinking. He didn't paint. He barely ate. Jem tried the most to help, but he was all cried out, and his special brand of numbness would have been difficult for anyone to get a handle on, let alone a fifteen year old. His parents were kind, but they were completely out of their league. Besides, his whole family had responsibilities, and couldn't be around to watch him all the time.

 

It was a cold November morning when Kieren left for the cave. Not many people knew the place existed. The woods around Roarton were nice enough, but they weren't exactly a prime nature-walking area, so Kieren and Rick had always been assured solitude there.

Kieren's knife felt abnormally heavy in his pocket. He'd used it maybe once on something pointless, just to show his dad, so it was nice and sharp. Everything was sharp, in fact. The air, the blade and Kieren's vision all seemed crisp and clean and focused.

There was no one there, as Kieren had anticipated. He paused at the mouth and thought about going inside, but decided he couldn't bear to see the graffiti he and Rick had once scrawled there. No one would see him if he sat at the entrance, unless they were looking for him. They probably wouldn't be doing that for a long while either; his family would just be glad that he'd finally gotten out of the house.

The leaves crunched pleasantly as he sat down, back against the rough stone. His pulse was beating like mad. It was some kind of subconscious survival instinct he couldn't control, but it actually felt kind of good, like he had energy for the first time in days.

He took the knife out of his pocket and placed it against his wrist. It had to be lengthwise, he knew. He'd studied the anatomy of the wrist for his art classes, so he had an advantage.

"Alright, this is going to hurt like hell." He didn't know who he was talking to, but it felt right. "Let's not waste any more time."

The blade bit into his wrist, and despite the fact that he was shuddering form the pain, he pushed deeper. He could barely look at it anymore, and his vision was vibrating.

The next wrist was harder, but he managed to do it with some groaning aloud, before letting the knife fall next to him in the leaves.

There was so much blood everywhere. It was a bit fascinating. He was starting to disconnect from it now, which probably meant he'd pass out soon. He'd heard that a lot of suicide attempters feel regret as soon as they start the fatal process, but there was none of that. It was rather comforting.  

As his vision darkened around the edges, he hoped desperately that they'd just burn his body, and wondered if maybe he should have left a note. No, he probably would have said the wrong thing anyways.

His last, absurd thought was that it was a shame he'd ruined this nice hoodie with all the redness.

 

**

 

So yes, sometimes the flashbacks weren't just about eating people. At least those came with a straightforward sense of crippling guilt. Here, he wasn't sure exactly what he was supposed to feel except a hollow kind of sadness. Maybe, among all the white robes and walls and serious doctors, he'd figure it out. Maybe he wouldn't. Who knew what his zombie brain could and would feel?

 


End file.
